


Love Is The Drug

by wocket



Series: Yes And... [3]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, John Mulaney - Fandom, Oh Hello - Kroll & Mulaney, US Comedians RPF
Genre: College, Homophobia, Improv, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: Nick Kroll never knows when John Mulaney will show up at the door of his East Village apartment. Takes place during John's junior and senior years at Georgetown University.





	Love Is The Drug

If the summer of 2002 passes slowly, fall creeps by at a pace like molasses. 

By the start of John Mulaney’s junior year of college, he’s living three thousand miles around the world in Ireland for a study abroad program. There’s a sense of freedom that comes with living in a new city in a strange country, and he finds little time to miss Georgetown. John’s commitment to his studies remains at the same lackadaisical level, although his commitment to the party scene is greatly aided by Ireland’s legal drinking age of eighteen. His educational pursuits lean more toward Eddie Izzard than Edwardian literature, more sherry than Shelley. 

John crumples up every letter he writes, tossing them into the trash like basketballs. He wants to send Nick something to let him know he’s being thought of, but somehow it never comes out right. He tries to imagine what it is he’d write down about Nick without him getting weird about it. It’s hard to quantify what it is he likes about Nick, and this feels like too much pressure. The world is not as sensible or comprehensible as people believe. Some things are inexpressible, like the way Nick’s tired eyes gleam at John in the mornings or the sound of Nick’s laughter.

John has been reading some of Emily Dickinson’s love letters for an English class and they put all of his drafts to shame. John was finding that he much preferred the work of Pablo Neruda anyway. Some of his pieces didn’t even seem like love poems at all, but they did seem to tap into the sort of intensity and heated, irrational passion of his feelings for Nick, though. John remembers reading the final stanza of one poem in class and the room sort of fading away around him. He’d ripped the page from the borrowed textbook, coughing to hide the noise, before he even realized what he was doing. John had shoved the paper into his jacket pocket and flattened it out later in his dorm room, re-reading it carefully.

_laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon  
laugh at the twisted streets of the island  
laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you  
but when i open my eyes and close them  
when my steps go, when my steps return  
deny me bread, air, light, spring  
but never your laughter  
for i would die_

None of the other great poets talked about laughter like that. 

Before John knows it, the end of the fall semester is on its way and not a single letter to Nick has been sent. It’s December and he’s gone through a hundred drafts, none of them actually making it into the mail… let alone an envelope. 

*

One day Nick walks past the 24-hour photo place a few blocks away from his job to suss it out. He spies a tall dude in a Rangers jersey working at the counter when he peers into the window. Nick’s stomach sinks knowing the disposable camera in his pocket has some images that are less than family-friendly. Hell. What is that guy going to think? Of course he’ll see the pictures. Would he say something? What exactly would he say when he saw the photos of Mulaney, of both of them? Nick remembers John snatching the camera to take the photograph of the two of them, holding it above their smiling heads. Nick cringed at the idea of someone witnessing their private moments - those were supposed to be just for _them_. It was somehow worse than Drew walking in on them, which they’d never spoken of again. 

The second time Nick passes the shop, his hand closes around the camera. He walks down the block twice, trying to work up the nerve to go inside. His hand clenches and he keeps walking, unable to drum up the courage. 

Nick takes the camera home and throws it in a drawer. Maybe he’ll have the nerve to deal with it later.

*

John flies straight back to Chicago from Dublin to spend the holidays with his family, and directly back to college after that. There’s a holiday from classes at the end of February, though, and Nick begs John to come to New York City. He shows up late on a Friday night with only his backpack in hand, a welcome sight in Nick’s doorway. It’s been too long - almost eight months since Nick Kroll has laid his eyes on John. 

“You look good,” Nick says, and John pulls him into a tight embrace.

They hang out on Nick’s bed, chain smoking cigarettes. Nick mostly listens to John talk about his semester in Ireland, although he riffs a little on going home for the holidays. Nick could listen to him go on forever, regardless of the topic.

By midnight there are almost a dozen empty beer bottles stacked beside the bed.

John is looking at him the way he often does, with a sort of affectionate gaze, and Nick realizes he’s leaning a little too close to his friend. Then John leans even further forward and captures Nick’s mouth with his own. He apologizes. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” 

Nick sits on his knees so he can lean over John, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him closer. He plants another kiss on John’s lips. 

“I missed you,” he says in between kisses. It’s so easy to fall into this again.

Nick smiles, then starts kissing him again; long, tender kisses that have John sighing against him. Nick’s mouth is familiar as ever, but his newly grown scruff rubs against John’s jaw. “What do you think of it?” Nick asks, sliding a hand across his chin. He hasn’t shaved in about a week; there’s a short crop of stubble across his jaw.

“I love it,” John says earnestly, nosing the tender spot just below Nick’s ear. Nick’s fingers tighten where they’re grasping John’s slim hips. 

John falls back on the bed, tugging Nick on top of him. They kiss like crazy, and Nick is no longer shy about grinding his hips against John’s in a frenzy. John slips a hand between them to press his hand against Nick’s dick.

John reaches for Nick’s belt, unbuckling it and whipping it through the loops. He unbuttons Nick’s jeans with a flick of his wrist then tugs Nick’s shirt up and over his head; Nick makes sure John’s shirt follows suit soon after. 

John’s hand is warm where it grazes over Nick’s skin. He slips a hand into the back of Nick’s jeans so he can pull their bodies together. They make out like teenagers.

“Thought maybe you changed your mind,” Nick says. John’s heart hurts for a moment when he hears that, so he stops him mid-thought by leaning forward for a kiss. John hadn’t been able to write any letters to Nick while he’d been abroad, for some reason, but maybe now he could show him how much he missed him. 

He slides a hand into Nick’s plaid boxers, gets a hand on his dick and starts jacking him off. Spurred by the urge to show Nick exactly what he’d missed, John’s kiss is deep, dizzying. When he pulls back Nick’s lower lip is swollen, plump from kissing.

“God, I don’t know how to say this… do you wanna fuck, maybe?” John doesn’t look at Nick when he says it, just purrs the words into his ear. “Want to show you how it feels…”

“Yes. Okay,” Nick consents, nodding. John drops a kiss on his jaw. 

“Best answer,” John says. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I don’t know! Just fuck me,” Nick replies, frustrated. John clamors back and pats Nick’s knee.

“Turn over. Please.” Nick follows John’s instructions, turning over to lie on his front, and suddenly he realizes exactly how John must have been feeling that first time. He feels bare, exposed. Then he feels John’s hand creeping up the back of his thigh, skimming across his ass and coming to rest at the bottom of Nick’s spine. John’s hand feels solid and warm, and Nick remembers he’s in good hands.

Then he feels John’s searching fingers at his entrance. 

“Bad?”

“No, just… different,” Nick replies, grabbing hold of the pillow. 

“Maybe you should…” John lets his sentence trail off, instead choosing to adjust Nick’s position.

The lube is cool and wet on John’s fingers. John coats his fingers liberally, then adds even more upon second thought. He slides his finger in up to the first knuckle. Once he’s satisfied, he adds another thin finger, moving in and out carefully.

“Yeah, Nick,” John encourages, enjoying the way Nick starts fucking himself on John’s long fingers. Nick’s movements are uncoordinated and erratic, slightly desperate. “That’s it.”

“I want to…” John trails off but Nick knows exactly what he wants.

“Come on. Do it,” Nick asks, and then John is lining up his dick at Nick’s entrance and pushing in. His movements are slow and focused.

“Oh,” Nick gasps, his voice going up an octave, surprised at how good this feels. 

Nick is so fucking tight - so he says as much. “I didn’t think you’d be this tight,” John murmurs, nosing at the back of Nick’s neck. Goosebumps spring up on his skin. He bites Nick’s shoulder, firm but gentle, as he rocks his hips forward. 

“Yeah?” Nick’s heart is beating out of control. “You want it? Come on.” 

John fucks him ’til he’s needy about it, teasing John with every wanton push of his ass. He starts building a rhythm, driving into Nick. “Please,” John can’t help but murmur, his voice wet with want. His hips stutter. His forehead drops to Nick’s shoulder and he buries his face there against Nick’s slick skin, his hips jerking forward uncontrollably. 

“You’re almost there, baby,” Nick says encouragingly, pushing himself back to meet John’s hips as he fucks into him. John pumps into him, thrusting forward one, two, three times, and then he’s coming, collapsing heavily on top of Nick’s back. 

Nick lets him lie like that for a minute before he tries to roll out from under him to catch his breath. Feeling lightheaded, he puts on a nasal Mexican accent and says “¡Ándale, ándale!”

John cringes. “Please don’t _ever_ make the Speedy Gonzalez voice when we are having sex.”

After they fuck, John gropes for a cigarette, placing it between his lips. He looks around for a lighter but Nick beats him to it, holding a gray Bic lighter up to John’s cigarette and lighting it for him. He places the lighter on the windowsill above their heads.

John is quiet while he smokes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write you,” he apologizes, taking a drag. John doesn’t look at Nick while he says it; doesn’t want to risk the chance of seeing disappointment written on his features. He changes the topic as soon as possible. “Speaking of writing… are you doing any?”

“I’ve been working on a couple ideas.” John hides his smile behind the hand holding his cigarette. “I don’t know, um, I’ve kind of been focusing on improv. I’ve been doing some stuff at Little Man and UCB.”

“Good. That’s good,” John tells him, pleased with what he hears. He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray. 

John had faith that Nick was going to make this happen. It sounded like he was well on his way.

*

“I want to have some fun tonight,” Nick tells John wistfully. Nick watches with interest when John grabs his backpack from the floor and starts rifling through it. It’s a cold night in February and he thought maybe they’d get drunk or go out, but John appears to have bigger plans.

“Your wish is my command,” John replies, pulling out a Ziploc bag that’s got a handful of white pills inside. He tosses it to Nick. Nick recognizes it as Adderall and painstakingly grinds up the pills. 

Forty minutes later, the pills get their minds racing and blood pumping. John starts wringing his hands, full of nervous energy. Nick puts his hands on John, running them up and down his arms, across the wide expanse of his shoulders, down the narrow ridge of his spine. He applies a little more pressure, kneading John’s shoulders. John settles.

John’s head droops a little under Nick’s attention, and Nick presses his fingers a little harder into his neck. His fingertips graze the short hair at the nape of John’s neck.

“You don’t have to keep going,” John says modestly. The Adderall made Nick twitchy, too, and the pleasant sensation of his hands on John distracts him. He keeps up the gentle motion with soothing hands, calming John as he goes, the movement alleviating the itchy feeling under his skin.

Before he gets too drowsy, John spins his chair around, crooking his finger for Nick to come closer. Nick isn’t quite sure what he means for him to do, but John reaches up and yanks him into his lap so that he’s sitting sideways on top of John’s legs. 

“Hi,” comes tumbling out of Nick’s mouth when John slides a hand into his hair and gazes at Nick’s mouth hungrily. Then John is leaning up to capture his mouth in a kiss. Nick closes his eyes. John can’t keep his hands still, dragging his nails against Nick’s scalp, clutching at Nick’s waist, stroking his long fingers across Nick’s knee. 

“So handsome,” Nick murmurs into the kiss, mostly to see the blush that spreads across John’s cheeks. John pinches him.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” John asks. They trip over each other’s legs when they try to stand up, neither one willing to part and end the kiss. 

John follows Nick to his bedroom. John practically dives into the covers, rolling onto his back and welcoming Nick into his arms. 

They kiss and kiss, and keep kissing, getting their hands on each other wherever they can. John slides his fingers underneath the hem of Nick’s shirt, splaying them across the small of his back. They’re both feeling a little touch-starved from the uppers, finding no better remedy than the feel of each other’s warm skin under their hands. John’s toes curl. All of this feels like a home and like a fantasy, all at once, and _God_ , he had missed him. 

John kisses him so hard it hurts. They grind against each other, trying to gain friction through their jeans. 

Sometimes they stop kissing for a few minutes to talk excitedly, but they almost always find each other’s arms again, drawing the other into an embrace.

Deep into the night, Nick turns to John. “You want to go to sleep?” 

“Not a fucking chance.”

Nick and John kiss until their lips get tired. Nick sets his chin on John’s chest. “You wanna put on a movie?”

John nods his agreement and Nick climbs out of bed to look for some DVDs. He holds up _American Psycho_ and _Back to the Future Part II_. John looks at him pointedly and Nick waggles the _Back to the Future_ DVD. “We have a winner.” He pops it into the DVD player.

John must have seen the movie a hundred times but he watches with rapt attention anyway. “You know what I don’t get?”

“Doc and Marty’s friendship? We’ve gone over this before.”

“Well, yes, but also… in part _two_ ,” John begins. Nick leans his chin on his hand, settling in for the long haul. John could be extremely pedantic about movie trivia; sometimes a little too militant. “Biff takes the Sports Almanac back to 1985, right? And he gives it to young 1980s Biff. Then he gets back in the DeLorean and goes back to the future.”

“Yep. That’s what the movie is called.” John ignores Nick’s comment and continues talking.

“It’s the regular timeline. 2015A, if you will. So Doc and Marty go back to the past - to 1985 - and they’ve landed in the alternate timeline, or 1985B. Everything’s different.” Nick nods as he follows along. “But when Biff went back - do you see now? Why didn’t Biff land in 2015B, where his skeevy plans have completely changed Hill Valley?”

John looks at Nick expectantly. 

“You are a genius,” Nick says after a beat, and John starts to look smug until he realizes Nick is toying with him. “I’m going to call Bob Zemeckis right now and tell him that he has to speak with John Mulaney about a serious textual error.”

“Nick,” John groans.

“I’m serious. We gotta catch this before the release!”

John rolls his eyes. “It came out twelve years ago, you know.”

“Then we have to go back!” Nick grins. John hooks his fingers into Nick’s collar and kisses the smile off his face.

The DVD plays until it comes to a finish, returning to the title menu. The theme song plays over and over again as they doze, on the verge of passing out at some indiscriminate hour in the morning. John curls around Nick, seeking the heat of his body, sliding an arm around his belly to tuck him in close under his arm. Nick occasionally nods off but John remains awake, feeling fuzzy, unable to really sleep. 

*

John surprises Nick for spring break by showing up at the front door of his East Village apartment. 

Nick opens the door and John can see a man standing in Nick’s apartment beyond him. “John,” Nick says, surprised. “I didn’t… My dad is here,” he says, stating what John had pretty much already figured out.

Nick’s so surprised in the moment that he forgets to give John a hug. John’s face is hot when he walks into the apartment and realizes the stern glare of Nick’s father is focused totally on him. John moves so he can shake the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he starts, but the man ignores his outstretched hand.

John sits down on the couch, unsure of what else he _can_ do. John is forced to overhear their conversation; Nick’s father’s cold voice is booming. 

“Nicholas, I didn’t know you had a guest. Who is this?”

“This is John Mulaney -” John starts to wave at Nick’s father. Like an idiot. Nick glares at him and John cuts it out.

“You say this like I’m supposed to know what that means! Who is this Mulvaney fellow?”

“He’s a friend from Georgetown, dad,” Nick tries to explain. “You met him at my graduation.”

“A friend who just… shows up at your door? Like a dog?”

“Dad,” Nick says. “Please.”

“Does he have a key?” Nick’s father crosses his arms.

“No, he doesn’t have a key!”

“I don’t pay rent so you can keep house with some string bean faggot!”

Nick’s shoulders droop. Nick’s father gives an angry sigh, walking out without even looking at John, letting the door slam shut behind him. Nick looks angry and embarrassed, and John suddenly understands some of the things Nick can never bring himself to say. 

Nick doesn’t say anything when his dad leaves; doesn’t look at John. Eventually he kicks the sofa and yells “Fuck!” He stands there without moving or acknowledging his friend, pressing his hands against his eyes, looking defeated.

How is it that everyone seems to know what John is to Nick, despite their efforts to keep it behind the scenes?

John calls for a pizza when he realizes that Nick’s not going anywhere. He paces in the kitchen while he waits for the delivery boy, counting out twenty dollars in bills, and hunts in the fridge for something to ploy Nick with. He pours a liberal amount of vodka into a plastic red cup. A few paces later, he realizes Nick will probably want something with it instead of pure liquor, so he digs for some kind of juice and adds it to his brew. 

When he comes back after paying for the pizza, Nick is at least sitting down on a corner of the sofa. John appears in front of him and holds the pizza out like a peace offering. Nick won’t take it, and he doesn’t seem to want the drink either, but John proffers it again and he finally accepts it. John sets the pizza down beside him - just in case. Nick seems to be looking anywhere but at him. He slides the pizza closer and Nick takes it reluctantly.

“Are you mad at me?” John asks when Nick finishes his slice of pizza.

“No, John.” Nick finally looks at him, and where John expected to see anger behind his eyes, there’s just dejection. Nick grabs at his sleeve and John crosses the couch, folding up beside Nick and wrapping his arms around his waist in a sort of awkward pretzel, giving him the hug he wanted to give him at the door. Nick puts an arm around him in what he thinks is sort of a manly side-hug, then gives in and holds John, putting both of his arms around John’s shoulders. “Never you.”

They stay there until John gets twitchy, needing to unfurl his long limbs from where they’ve been bent on the sofa. He cricks his neck and stretches, then coils back up on the sofa, resting his head on Nick’s thigh. 

Plastic cup in one hand, John’s skin underneath the other. There are worse ways to spend an evening. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming to town. I shouldn’t have -”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault,” Nick says curtly. John is apologetic but if it wasn’t this, his dad would be mad over some other thing, some other misstep. John’s neck is warm under his fingertips. He tucks his fingers under the collar of John’s t-shirt. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“You don’t have to,” Nick says. “Really.” His fingers linger on John’s collarbone, then dip into the hollow there. “It’s not you. It’s always been me.” A thumb traces John’s collarbone. “I’m the baby,” he begins suddenly. “Out of four kids. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to impress everyone. But I’ve always been the fuck-up.”

John listens as Nick tells him things he’s never told anyone. How his dad could be funny, but cold. What it was like being the youngest in his ambitious family, trying to live up to the pressure to go and work for his father just like his brother. Nick tells him ridiculous stories about the internship he did for his dad during his junior year, the internship that was so bad he ran off to Argentina for study abroad the next semester without looking back. “I was horrible. It was a complete joke,” Nick remembers with guilt. “I was slow and not helpful at all. Anyway, turns out there’s not a very big market for comedians by day and private investigators by night.”

John makes a show of screwing his eyes shut. Nick pinches him. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m imagining you as a sexy spy.”

“John -”

“ _Kroll. Nick Kroll._ ”

“I was like, Austin Powers incompetent. Not very sexy at all.”

“Shh,” John shushes him. “I can see you in the white tuxedo… the fancy laser watch…” John opens his eyes and grins at Nick.

“It was mostly paperwork. And research. I wasn’t good at any of it.”

“Let a fella dream, will you?”

“I can always go back to it if I fail at being a comedian,” Nick says sadly.

“You’re not going to fail at being a comedian.” John hates this conversation. They’ve had it one too many times.

“I bomb all the time.”

“Everybody bombs.”

“You don’t bomb.”

“I bomb. You haven’t seen me bomb. It happens.”

“Does it?”

“ _Everybody bombs_ ,” John repeats.

“Enough.” Nick squeezes his neck twice. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

*

Nick gives John a key to the apartment that summer. It’s not to spite his dad or anything, but he can’t deny that it feels good to act against his wishes. There were worse people he could shack up with for the summer; John was completely harmless. Nick thinks it’s totally legitimate, and plus, John had been lucky enough to snag an internship at Comedy Central. Nick was equal parts jealous and proud of his best friend.

At 4:11 in the afternoon on August 14, 2003, the air conditioner unit in Nick’s apartment grinds to a halt. It’s less than two weeks to John’s twenty-first birthday.

John panics when he realizes the power has gone out. Nervous energy bubbles under his skin and he looks for Nick immediately. Nick must be able to see on his face how worried he looks, because Nick squeezes his shoulder, smoothing his thumb across his shoulder blade.

“Hey,” Nick says, for lack of anything else, not really knowing what to say. He makes John sit down on the bed while he has the smarts to look out the window. Nick sees a few other people sticking their heads out of the building like he is, trying to get a sense of what’s happening. No smoke. No fire. No screams.

“What’s going on?” John asks impatiently. “I would like to know what is happening.”

“I don’t know,” Nick says, pulling his head back inside. “Maybe it’s just a blackout.” He crawls behind John and wraps his arms around him. They both remember that horrible day almost two years ago, but what John remembers the most is the empty space at his side as he desperately tried not to think about Nick’s whereabouts. “Whatever it is, you’re here with me and not two hundred miles away.”

“Two hundred and thirty-eight,” John specifies. Nick just smiles at the correction and rests his chin on John’s shoulder, tightening his hold around him.

John is almost scared to look out the window, but eventually he craves a cigarette, so they move to the window together. Nick and John hold their heads outside, watching the traffic start to build. It becomes a congested jam. Traffic gets so bad that people start to open their doors and stand outside their cars, checking the road ahead. 

Nick waves at his neighbor, who’s hanging out their own window watching the scene.

John lights a cigarette, passing it to Nick after he takes a steady drag. Nick obliges. Smoke curls between them.

Nick’s apartment gets hot fast so they go for a walk, from the Hudson to the East River. The heat is sweltering, even in the evening, the air thick and muggy. The heat on the pavement seems to swallow them up whole, but they follow the rest of the city’s impulse to be outdoors.

On the corner, an ice cream vendor is passing out what’s left of his product for free. John jogs up to the mustached man and takes a popsicle for each of them. The frozen treats are already starting to melt.

John’s mouth wrapped around the popsicle is sinful. Nick thinks about trashing his popsicle - which is melting faster than he can eat it - so that he can spend all of his energy watching John devour his.

The steamy evenings of August promise late, dazzling sunsets. John and Nick watch the streaky cotton-candied clouds over the dark cityscape as they walk together down the promenade running alongside the East River. The pink clouds creep along as the sun moves lower and lower in the sky. The East Village is completely silent; it sounds like all of New York City is still. The darker it gets, the more the pair realize this walk could be a bad idea. They can barely see the cobbled stones in front of their feet, and as the night grows dimmer, the moon is the only guiding light they can find.

They walk south along the riverfront, passing underneath the Williamsburg Bridge.

“It’s a hundred years old this year.”

“That’s… frightening,” John observes. “Bridges should not celebrate birthdays. They’re not like wine. They don’t get better with age. How can we be sure that thing isn’t going to collapse at any minute?” Nick laughs, and John proceeds with a non sequitur. “I think this is where Depeche Mode shot their ‘Policy of Truth’ video.”

The crowds don’t seem any smaller now that the sun has set, but Nick finds a way to get them away from all of the people, manages to find a way of seeking their own little spot on top of this concrete mountain. It seems like he already knows the city so well. They continue walking until Nick leads John onto the stage of a very retro bandshell equipped with amphitheatre-style seating. The curve of the proscenium arch gives them privacy, making them feel like the only people on the waterfront. For a minute, New York was their town.

“Nick - no offense - I love that you had a very romantic idea in bringing me here, but this seems like the kind of place someone would get violently murdered in a movie.”

“Romantic?”

He’s reminded of a moment that feels like a lifetime ago back in D.C., another quiet moment with John on a stage. 

The night is so dark that Nick can’t see John’s face in front of him, but he moves closer, and he can feel John’s chest when he reaches one hand out in front of him. He slides the hand up until he reaches the familiar terrain of John’s neck, and then he tugs him into a kiss. Their bodies find each other easily in the dark. John hooks an arm around Nick, stepping forward until they’re standing so close there’s no distance left between them.

They sit on the edge of the stage, facing the water, for quite some time. Nick deliberately sits close to John, scooting even closer in the dark. It feels easy to be close to John when the whole city is dark and distracted.

At some point, Nick realizes he can see the stars twinkling, and it’s so unnerving to see them in the sky knowing he’s in the middle of New York City. He reaches for John’s elbow, gestures for him to look up. The stars seem brighter than they’ve ever been. He can actually pick out constellations. Mulaney points out what he thinks is Mercury.

They sit on the stage for some time, knowing the night air will be cooler and more pleasant than the inside of Nick’s apartment.

John slips his hand into Nick’s as they’re walking back to his apartment, protected by the cover of darkness. Nick holds onto his hand the full walk home, relaxing into his grip, realizing nobody can see them. Nobody cares. Something about tonight felt like they were running on stolen time.

Nick’s a little disappointed when he turns the key in the lock, thinking the night is over and that the magic of the blackout would be lost. Then John crowds Nick against the door after he pushes it shut. Nick regards his mad eyes, notices how they seem to gleam in the shadows. The only things alight in the apartment are John’s eyes and a sliver of moonlight shining through the tiny window above Nick’s stove.

They undress each other slowly in the living room of the apartment. 

John finds Nick’s hand, drags it to his dick. Nick presses down, shoving the heel of his palm against the zipper of John’s jeans. He undoes the button and reaches into his pants to close a fist around his dick and jerk him off with a few steady motions.

“Go on. Bed,” he says after a minute, wishing he could see the look on John’s face. 

John’s waiting naked on the bed when he joins him a moment later. John turns over before Nick can tell him to, pliant and eager.

Nick takes a handful of John’s ass and squeezes. It’s too dark to see the freckles scattered over his backside, but Nick scrapes his nail over a spot where he knows one is for sure. John’s freckles get darker in the summer, even the hidden ones that don’t see the light of the sun.

Nick stretches him out like he’s got it down to a science. Stirred by the fact that he can barely see the outline of John’s face, even as close as they are, he gets an idea. He runs his hand down the side of John’s skinny ribcage. “On your back,” he whispers. “Trust me.”

John stills for a second, but obeys, rolling over underneath Nick. 

Nick dips his head low so he can kiss John, coaxing his thighs up and spreading his legs. He kisses down John’s stomach, licking a bold stripe across John’s cock and lavishing him with his tongue as he finishes opening him up.

Nick pins John’s hands by his head. Slowly, he pushes his dick into John’s ass, trying desperately to see the look on his face that goes with the little noises John is making. Nick lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he slides home. Nick bends to kiss John, sliding his hand around John’s cock at the same time. 

Nick fucks him slow, driving deep with steady, punctuated thrusts. They’ve never fucked like this before, slow, languid, the sound of their breathing captured between them. John pulls him closer with a hand on his neck, kissing him hard. Nick can’t really see John’s face but he can feel his breath against his lips and on his skin.

John turns his head, baring his neck. By the time Nick mouths a kiss on his throat, John’s almost in tears. Nick fucks him until he’s shaking, rolling his hips slow and deep. “Let go,” Nick encourages him.

“Nick,” John says, over and over again, repeating his name like a prayer. Nick kisses the corner of his mouth. He slides a hand between their bodies and jerks him off ’til he lets go, spilling over Nick’s fingers. Nick comes a moment later after fucking John’s sensitive body through his orgasm.

Their bodies are slick with sweat when they finally collapse on top of the covers. It’s too hot to even hold each other. With any luck, they’ll be able to fall asleep instead of lying awake suffering the heat all night. 

A breeze flutters in the open window.

The next morning, the boys wake up naked and sweaty. John groans when he realizes the A/C is still out. The heat is stifling. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up off-kilter.

“Do you think people are going to talk about this? The way they talk about the blackout of 1977?”

“Where were you the night the lights went out in New York City?” John shrugs. “It’s like someone turned the entire city off. I didn’t know you could do that.”

Two cold showers later, they hit the streets. Nick digs around in his dresser for the only tank top he owned. John foregoes his undershirt and watch, pulling on a pair of cargo shorts and a tee.

John tries to buy cigarettes at the corner store, but the credit card machines and ATMs are still down. The clerk recognizes Nick and lets them walk off with a pack of Marlboro Reds and an IOU.

The pair walk around for miles in high spirits, the way they used to at Georgetown. Something about New York makes everything seem possible, even as the electric jungle laid dormant. It was easy to idolize a city like this one.

It cools down a little after sunset, but just barely. Back in Nick’s bedroom, John rolls a joint, working by muscle memory rather than sight. They pass it back and forth until it burns out, sucking in huge clouds of smoke and blowing them out the window.

“Thanks for giving me a place this summer,” John says.

“You got it, man.” Nick would do just about anything for John if he asked.

At ten minutes after ten, the lights blink once, then twice, and then turn back on for good.

*

One lazy, boring afternoon they decide to eat some shrooms and visit the Museum of Natural History. The mushrooms start to kick in hard when they’re wandering through the Hall of Ocean Life, a vast room filled with models of ocean mammals, everything from sea lions to dolphins and fish, and a notorious 94-foot blue whale suspended from the ceiling. The exhibits, full of ice and snow and water, cast an eerie blue glow on the room.

John walks past a display containing a large walrus. He’s got a weird, grim look on his face and his hands are tucked oddly behind his back. He’s pacing around like some sort of aggravated mortician.

Nick watches him with wide eyes. “You ate too many, didn’t you?”

“Don’t guilt trip me while I’m tripping,” John says, turning to the wall. “These walruses are really giving me a hard time right now,” John mutters, his eyes darting around frantically. 

Nick tugs him under the large stairwell. He looks around to see if there are people nearby before tilting John’s chin down with his thumb and forefinger and kissing him.

“Calm down,” Nick tells him. John delights in the physical contact and winds his fingers into Nick’s belt loops. Nick chuckles and takes one of John’s hands so he’ll stop clenching his fists. He’s so tense. He massages John’s slender fingers a little bit, trying to work out the tension. “Can you relax for me? Just a little bit.”

John drops his head onto Nick’s shoulder. “Nick, _I can’t remember how to swim_ ,” he says urgently. He sounds _very_ concerned.

Nick hugs him, satisfied that the other museum patrons are giving the two weirdos under the stairs a wide enough berth. “I’ve got you, buddy,” he says in a low, calm tone. “I’ve got a plan. Do you trust me?” John starts looking around nervously, catching a glimpse of one of the sea lions over Nick’s shoulder. “Look at me, okay?” Nick asks. John’s eyes lock onto his. “I’m taking you up the steps and out of here. We’re going to go somewhere you can breathe. Sound good?”

John manages to nod. Nick doesn’t even care that they’re holding hands in public. Fuck it. John needs him right now. He knows what a bad trip can be like. If he can get John somewhere he feels safe then maybe he can cut this off and turn things around. 

Nick leads John by the hand, up the stairs and around the corner, through the Grand Gallery and out the exit to 77th Street. ”Come on. I know what you need,” Nick says, taking him across the street to Central Park. 

Almost instantly, John seems happier. They find a spot on Bow Bridge overlooking the lake.

“Everything in New York City is like a movie,” John ruminates. 

“It’s got character,” Nick agrees.

Then John turns his attention on Nick. “My knight in shining armor,” he sighs happily. “You are my favorite person.” John goes on. “You’re so funny, and clever. I just like you so much.”

Nick knows John is just gooey inside from the shrooms, but he sort of likes John’s adoration. At least it means that John has stopped freaking out. He doesn’t hate the way John is staring at him with love in his eyes, either.

John closes his eyes, tilts his face up, soaks up the sun. The yellow rays are striking where they hit his face. Nick starts feeling a little sentimental himself.

They hang out in the park for a while, lounging on the grass until John gets his fill of nature. They lie on their backs and watch the clouds shift. John grabs great handfuls of grass, feeling it between his fingers. Nick decides it’s time to take him home when he starts talking about how grass is nature’s blanket.

John tries to avoid looking at himself in the mirror by Nick’s door. “Like a funhouse mirror,” he says, avoiding his own gaze. He drops onto the sofa, swinging his long legs up onto the armrest.

“I’ll put on some music,” Nick says, looking through his CD collection for something chill. Radiohead, maybe, or Massive Attack. Then John points to his backpack dramatically. Nick unzips it and digs through it, ignoring the baggies of cocaine in the front pocket and another bigger bag of pills that he doesn’t recognize. He keeps looking and pulls out a CD case with a black cover and some kind of red and white stripe - he tries to make out what it is. “Umm… this one?” he asks. “ _Aja_?”

John gives him a thumbs up and Nick pops the disc into the boom box. The music starts playing and Nick lifts John’s shoulders up so he can slide underneath him and sit on the couch, letting John rest his head in Nick’s lap. He seems calmer now that they’re listening to the music, but Nick strokes John’s hair to settle him, dragging his fingers slowly through the brown strands and scratching his scalp. 

By the second track, Nick’s interest is piqued, and by the fourth track, he’s hooked. “You got any more of this stuff?”

“Boy, have I got news for you,” John responds without opening his eyes. “Let’s go to the record store in the morning.”

*

John and Nick have the kind of summer you wish would last forever, the kind of summer full of halcyon days, the kind of summer that you realize later you’ll never have again, without knowing it at the time.

*

The start of John’s senior year creeps up on them after a slow and mellow summer. A week before the semester is about to start, Nick gets an invitation from his family in the mail.

“I’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned? What for?” John thinks he’s being overly dramatic until Nick shows him the invitation, which is on thick paper stock with beautiful embossed gold lettering. It looks more like an invitation to an inauguration than one for a private fundraiser. 

“There’s no way I’m doing this by myself,” Nick insists. “That’s the absolute last thing I want to do right now.” He pauses, an idea coming to mind. “What if you came with me? What do you think? Think you can handle a night of free drinks, fancy snacks, and unlimited humiliation at Chez Kroll?”

“Sure. I’ll take Friday off.”

“Can you do that? Won’t they need you?”

“Someone else can deliver the mail for one day,” John says firmly. “Let’s do it.”

*

It’s the last weekend of the summer, and John and Nick are on the forty-minute train ride out to Westchester County. Nick insists on buying both the tickets but takes the window seat. 

“You seem jumpy,” John observes. 

“I’m good,” Nick says distractedly. “I just… kind of want to get this over with?”

The train pulls up to the red brick train station around dinnertime. Nick’s older brother Jeremy meets them in the parking lot.

“Jeremy. Thanks for picking us up,” Nick says, shaking his brother’s hand.

“Anytime, Nickster.” Nick’s brother looks John up and down, taking him in before offering a handshake. “Do mom and dad know you’re bringing someone home with you?”

Screw it. Nick couldn’t step two feet into Rye without some kind of hassle. 

“It’s a big house. He’ll barely notice,” Nick responds. They pile into Jeremy’s blue sports car.

John looks out the window with fascination as they drive. They pass a fancy-looking high school, and John looks on with interest. “Is that where you went to school, Nick?”

“No, that’s the public high school. I went to Rye Country Day,” Nick responds, looking out the window. It felt strange to be back home and have John with him, but things already felt more tolerable. “And a couple other schools.”

“Yeah, you were all over the place, weren’t you, Nick?” his brother chimes in. “Dad really shipped him all over.”

Nick doesn’t respond to Jeremy, just looks out the window.

The town is pretty - large, beautiful estates set against lush greenery and manicured landscaping. Red maple trees dot the landscape. John takes it all in as they drive to Nick’s parents’ house. Nick’s childhood home is bigger than John expected, just as big as any they saw on the drive over. 

John looks around for Nick’s parents when they arrive. The house seems empty, though, and John’s not sure if it actually is empty or if it’s just the size that gives that impression. If anyone was inside, they were certainly giving them their space.

“Might as well get ready. I’ve got a suit that’s still a size too big for me. I think my mother was being hopeful when she bought it.”

*

The party marks the first time they’ve ever seen each other wearing a suit. John can’t help but feel like they’re dressed up for prom or some other ridiculous situation. Somehow it doesn’t quite feel like him and feels like he’s putting on a show.

They station themselves in the corner where the servers keep appearing with silver trays, ready to pick off hors d'oeuvres as they’re brought out from the kitchen. “There should be an open bar somewhere,” Nick says, after they take their fill. Open bars were simutaneously the best news and bad news.

Once they have drinks in hand, Nick’s father Jules approaches them, much to Nick’s surprise. Usually he kept to his associates and friends at events like these. They make small talk for a few minutes, John trying desperately to be liked. 

“Tell me, John, have you seen Nick perform?”

“Yes, sir. He’s very funny, sir.”

“Is he?”

John doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t expect what happens next, when Jules turns to Nick.

“Nicholas, when you’re older, you’ll look back at this and you will laugh at yourself for thinking this is so important.” Nick’s father turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

“What the fuck,” John says under his breath when Nick’s dad is out of earshot. When he looks at Nick, the fucked up thing is that it seems like he’s heard stuff like this before. There’s no surprise on Nick’s face whatsoever.

They sneak off to the back porch now that the party has gotten to be too much. John leans against the rail and lights a cigarette. Nick drinks in the sight of John’s lanky body in his suit as he dangles a cigarette between his fingers.

“You look cool,” Nick comments with a shy smile after John takes a slow drag.

John grins and leans forward like he might try to kiss Nick. Nick shakes his head and steps back, leaving him hanging. “Don’t want to risk it,” he says softly. He motions to John’s cigarette. “Better be quick with that, too.”

John flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette and stubs the butt out under the toe of his shoe. “Ready for round two?”

They grab drinks and find a corner from which they can people-watch and make snarky comments. When they reach the bottoms of their drinks, Nick thrusts his whiskey glass into John’s free hand.

“Hang on. Stay here.” 

When Nick returns, he’s got Jeremy’s keys in his fist. “We’re getting out of here,” he says. John follows him to the garage.

“Are you sure about this?” John says, pausing at the door of the car. Nick hits the switch that opens the garage door.

“Get in, Mulaney.”

Nick rolls down the windows to let in the summer breeze. 

“What are we doing?” John asks when they pull up to a bowling alley fifteen minutes later. Nick parks the car behind the building.

“Wait a minute, okay?”

John watches as he meets a guy in a purple bowling shirt outside the building. They say hello and exchange something. When Nick gets back in the car, he smells like weed.

“Mmm,” John says, taking in the aroma. 

“Do you have anything? Like a pipe or rolling papers,” Nick asks, dumping the baggie in the glove compartment. John shakes his head. “One more stop then.” He puts the keys in the ignition before turning to John. “Actually, do you want to drive?”

“I don’t know how,” John admits. “If I crash your brother’s Porsche I think your family will like me even less than they do now.”

“Fair enough.” Nick stops at a gas station to buy Twizzlers and a grape Dutch Masters so they can roll a blunt. “He loves this car. It’s his passion.”

They’re leaving the store, minding their own business, when someone shouts at them. “Yo, little Nicky!”

Nick stops dead in his tracks. John looks, expecting to see maybe a friend from Nick’s high school days. Instead he sees two tall, broad-shouldered women standing side by side with their arms crossed.

“Alex. Lacey.”

While the big one - Alex? - crowds Nick, getting up in his space, John’s looking up at the smaller one and realizing that she’s still taller than he is. _Jesus, I’m almost six feet tall_ , he remembers, and blinks. 

“On a date with your boyfriend?” Lacey suggests rudely.

“No. Are you? On a date? With her?” Nick says awkwardly. He jams his hands into his pockets. Alex jostles forward and bumps into Nick, hard. 

“What? You gonna joke about it?”

“Put on a show for us, Nick.”

Nick grimaces and shuts his eyes. John doesn’t say anything, unsure of what to do. _Do I say anything? Should I say anything?_

The girls bump into Nick intentionally as they brush past either side of him and walk into the gas station.

“Little Nicky?” John asks, when they’re out of earshot. Nick’s cheeks redden.

“Shut up. We’re going to act like that never happened.” Nick’s walking quickly, so that even John with his long legs has to walk fast to keep up. John reaches for Nick’s elbow and he shrugs away, angry. “Cut it out,” he hisses. He unlocks the car. “The girls on the hockey team pushed me around. So what.”

“So what,” John echoes. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Nick still won’t look at him. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, wishing he had stepped in and said something even though Nick would probably be even angrier.

“Let’s go smoke somewhere,” John suggests to distract him. “There’s a beach, right?”

“You want to go to the beach?”

“Is it a real beach? Not just a lake with sandy edges that landlocked people call a beach?”

“It’s a real beach.”

Nick spouts dry facts about Rye during their escape to the ocean. John’s amazed at the size of some of the houses they see.

“Rye money,” Nick offers as explanation.

When they pull into the parking lot, John is aghast when he sees the fence lining the edge of the beach. “What is this? You can’t just rope off nature like this,” he exclaims. He seems horrified. “We shouldn’t have to pay for what nature wants to give us for free.”

“We’re not going to,” Nick says, and John seems somehow just as offended by this concept. Nick steers him to the far end of the beach, past all the gates. “Up and over.”

“We can’t do that,” John says.

“I thought you didn’t want to pay for what nature’s glory has given you for free.”

“I don’t. But this is… I think this is a crime, Nick. This is breaking and entering.”

“You can’t break and enter a beach. We’re not breaking anything,” Nick says, laughing at John’s ridiculousness. He sneaks over the fence, landing in the sand with a soft thud. “Suit yourself,” he says, walking toward the shore.

John looks around, paranoid, before placing his hands on the rail and hopping over. He follows Nick to the secluded spot where he’s standing and watching the small waves. The full moon is still low in the sky, round and orange, hanging behind hazy clouds. 

John eventually sits down, dropping into the sand and spreading his long legs out in front of him. Nick does the same.

“When’s the last time you came home?”

“I don’t know. Hannukah, maybe?”

“But you live so close to your family,” John says, sounding surprised.

“Not far enough, huh?”

“I’m sure they love you, Nick.”

“Love has its limits.”

“Mine doesn’t,” John says suddenly. “Not for you.” His eyes are focused on the sea. “It just seems like they know something. But I don’t know what they know.”

Nick traces shapes in the sand with his fingers.

“I didn’t… I told myself I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he says defensively. He picks up a shell and tosses it into the water. He takes a long look at John. “You know how I was changing schools all the time? My parents kinda felt like they had to move me.” John looks at him, waits for him to continue the story. “They kept catching me with my friends.”

“Catching you? What were you doing? Like smoking or -?” Nick sits on his hands. He shakes his head and looks out at the ocean, waiting for John to get it.

“Oh. _Oh_. Nick, I had no idea,” he says once he starts to understand that Nick means his parents caught him with another guy, and from the sound of it, more than once. It’s not what he expected, and all of the issues that John seemed to think were in Nick’s head now seemed to have an actual basis in reality.

“Between that and my sheer incompetence at the Kroll thing, I’m just not their favorite person.”

John’s trying to figure out what to say when there’s a loud bang. Startled, they both jerk back.

Nick swallows. He points up at the sky. “Fireworks. Every Friday night in the summer.” As he says it, another series of fireworks explodes above them, a mist of red and gold.

John sighs and lies back in the sand. He feels Nick hit the ground beside him and they train their attention on the sky above them. The show is distracting: brilliant blues, crimsons, gold, and lavender. The fireworks burst into stars and scatter, twinkling shapes blazing and floating apart. For ten minutes the night sky is full of shimmering spirals and dazzling coils of color that flare in showers of light.

“You remember those summers that lasted forever when we were kids?”

It’s windy on the beach, but Nick guts the cigarillo, then packs the blunt. He licks it to seal it, rolling it up tight. He hands it to John to light, knowing he has a lighter somewhere.

They smoke and watch the moon rise higher in the sky as waves crest and break against the shore.

Later, on the boardwalk, under the glow of a lamp, they shake off the sand from their bodies. It’s stuck to their shoes and pants and places they can’t name. “You’ll probably be getting rid of this for days,” Nick says, reaching a hand up to shake the sand from John’s hair.

*

“Shhh,” Nick warns John as he unlocks the front door to his parents’ house. John leans up against him, his hands on Nick’s shoulders. They’re both still a little giggly from smoking weed. John follows him up the stairs, trying to remain quiet. “Are you ready for this?” Nick asks before opening the door to his childhood room.

John doesn’t know what to expect, but it could be any boy’s room. There’s nothing that immediately screams _Nick Kroll_. Navy blue walls, a stack of comic books on the desk, a twin bed. There’s a framed photo of 11-year-old Nick in a suit hanging on the wall.

They sit side by side on the edge of the bed, flirting with each other. Nick turns away dramatically when he catches John sneaking a glance at him, looking to the other side of the room. John does the same when Nick tries to look back and catch him, turning his head away playfully. They do it again, Nick pretending not to notice John studying his face. Then he turns, and his gaze is blinding. Nick catches John’s chin and tilts it down, pressing a kiss to his pouty mouth. He nudges John’s shoulder like he wants him to lie down.

“Are you kidding? Here?”

Nick nods and unbuttons John’s shirt, popping each button open deliberately. He slides a hand down John’s chest. It’s probably unwise - reckless - to do this here, but it’s hard to resist. Nick knows this is going to be John’s last year of college and he’s just not sure what’s going to happen afterward. John’s mentioned moving to New York before, and that would be perfect, but things could change.

Nick holds his index finger in front of his mouth to shush John. It was a big house but not so big that someone wouldn’t be able to hear John if he didn’t control himself. Even though they both barely fit on the narrow bed, he nudges John backwards and unbuttons his jeans. He yanks them down to his thighs so he can wrap his fingers around John’s dick, pumping his fist up and down, jerking him fast until John’s fisting his hands in the sheets and bucking up off of Nick’s childhood bed. 

Nick leans down to mouth at the head of his cock, and John lets out a large gasp that punctures the night like a knife. Nick’s hand flies up to cover his mouth. John tries to lick his hand so Nick just slips two of his fingers into John’s mouth. He loved the sounds John made for him but if they weren’t careful they’d wake someone else up. If his parents hear them tonight, he thinks he’ll die.

He brings the hand down to John’s dick, his spit-covered fingers slick on his skin. John wants to beg, to urge Nick on, but Nick tries to keep him quiet. When John’s lips part and he seems on the verge of moaning, Nick surges up to kiss the noise away.

They’re too into each other to notice the doorknob jiggle, but Nick remembered to lock the door this time. “Nick?”

“Fuck,” Nick spits, and they pull apart, red-faced and breathless. Nick pulls his shirt back on and goes to answer the door. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now. “Get dressed. Get up. Get - _something_ , I don’t know.”

He cracks the door. “Hi, mom.” 

“Nicholas, honey. Are you okay?”

“I’m great, mom. What’s up?”

“I thought I heard something.” John can see where she’s trying to peer into the bedroom past Nick’s door. He wants to zip up his pants but he’s terrified that it might make too loud a noise.

“No, um, nothing at all. I’m good,” Nick fibs. 

“Okay. Goodnight.”

Nick locks the door again and collapses on the bed with a sigh. He takes a deep breath, trying to slow his heartbeat.

“Sorry,” John mouths, always apologizing. 

“Whatever,” Nick shrugs. “It never changes.”

Nick’s too spooked to kiss John again, even with the door locked, so they just go to sleep. Sharing Nick’s narrow bed means they don’t have much room to spread out, so Nick spends the night pressed up against John’s back, winding a hand around his narrow waist.

*

In the morning, Nick slogs downstairs alone. He pads barefoot into the kitchen, searching for something to eat for breakfast. He finds an orange in a bowl of fruit on the countertop.

When he looks up from where he’s peeling the orange, he sees his mother and father sitting at the table fully dressed. Their eyes are boring holes in Nick’s head. Nick freezes in place, taking in the stern looks on their faces, realizing he’s walked into something bigger than breakfast. He tries to meet his mother’s eyes and she looks down at the table.

“Nicholas, these fundraisers are not opportunities for you to wine and dine young men,” Jules says sternly.

Nick can’t fucking believe what he’s hearing right now. 

“You sent me the invitation. Last time I didn’t show up to one of these, you said I was a disappointment who didn’t honor his family.” Nick attended these events at their behest, knowing his parents wanted him to show up, make nice, shake a few hands like the Kroll children were always expected to do. 

“Enough with the back talk, young man. We think it’s a good idea that you go back home and take your friend with you.”

“We do, huh?” Nick asks, turning to his mother, hoping for a glimmer of sympathy. “Mom?”

She looks up, looks straight at him. “Yes, we do.”

Nick nods. “Okay, then.” 

He tosses the rest of the orange in the trash can where it lands with a heavy thud.

Two hours later, Nick and John are on a train back to New York City. Nick won’t look John in the eyes. The weekend feels like an undeniable juncture marking the end of their summer, a sharp, steady thrust back into reality.

*

During John’s senior year at Georgetown University, he goes just as hard with the drinking as Nick does with improv up in New York. Nick starts taking classes at Upright Citizen’s Brigade; John starts taking coke almost every weekend. 

Actually, Nick thinks, he’s going hard with everything, and Nick’s starting to worry about him a little bit. John is lit most of the time, so he’s a lot of fun (most of the time), but he blacks out a lot, and starts to have trouble remembering things. 

John will show up to Nick’s shows to support him, always clapping and laughing (always genuine), but it doesn’t stop there. He comes by to walk him home after classes, always stopping in earlier and earlier to catch some of the last Harold. A couple of the guys in Nick’s improv class have taken to calling Mulaney his wife. It’s in Nick’s nature to think the name calling is mean, at first, then realizes they’re being genuinely good-natured and don’t mind when John shows up at practice.

John’s usually fucked up when he shows up at UCB, and then they go back to Nick’s apartment and get fucked up even worse.

Drunk, John is bolder. Fueled by vodka, he takes what he wanted from the minute he first saw Nick on stage tonight. His lips graze Nick’s throat, and then he’s clenching a hand in his shirt and kissing him.

“You’re so weird,” Nick says in between kisses. 

“C’monn,” John says, and Nick can hear the Chicago edge in his voice. “You love it.” 

“Mmm.” Nick winks at him, then kisses the words from John’s mouth. “You know what else I love? Your mouth.” John’s not the only one embolded by the liquor. Kissing John feels damn good but Nick hasn’t gotten laid since the summertime. 

John takes the hint and starts unzipping Nick’s pants. He pauses to strip off his own t-shirt, then he’s tugging Nick’s pants off so he can wrap a hand around Nick’s dick, long fingers swiping across his skin and working his cock before curling around the base and guiding him into his mouth.

John mouths his lips over the tip of Nick’s dick, teasing him with his tongue. Nick’s cock throbs when John pulls his mouth off to breathe. He looks up at Nick through his long eyelashes eagerly, expectantly. Nick stares at him; John’s lips are fresh and shining with spit. He palms his dick then lets John keep up his work, thrusting into his warm, familiar mouth helplessly. 

“This won’t take very long,” John says smugly, pressing Nick’s hips down. 

“Are you for real?” Nick finds himself asking dazedly. “Missed you. Missed this,” he lets slip, and then he’s coming down John’s throat. He takes a moment to catch his breath then reaches for him. “Get up here, Mulaney.”

*

On New Year’s Eve, the boys forego Times Square for their college buddy Mike Birbiglia’s house party in Brooklyn. They take the L train and then walk to his walk-up apartment.

After a round of greetings and introductions, Nick grabs a beer and sits down on an armchair. Before long, John joins him, perching on the edge of his chair. Nick wouldn’t call himself shy by any means, but it’s reassuring to have John by his side. At the very least someone will be setting him up for a few jokes.

At an hour until midnight, Nick sequesters Mike in a corner while John has a captive audience for one of his stories. 

“Dude. I’ll pay you twenty bucks to kiss Ed at midnight.”

Mike looks ludicrous but accepts when Nick holds up a wad of cash. “Not like there’s any girls here anyway.” He’s not wrong - it’s mostly guys in flannels and polos and not a woman in sight.

“Make a scene, okay? Make, like, a big production out of it.”

“You got it, man,” Mike agrees when he realizes how much money Nick just handed him.

Friends catch up with each other all night long, sharing memories from Georgetown or particularly memorable nights from improv. There’s a whole group of them that all moved to New York after graduation, setting their sights on larger goals. Occasionally one of them will try out a bit, testing some bizarre new material on their peers.

Nick looks everywhere but at John, terrified that someone will find them out just by looking.

Someone turns on the television at about ten minutes until midnight. Nick watches the clock nervously. When there’s only a minute left on the clock, Nick pushes John into the kitchen so they can top up their drinks. They hear the sound of chanting from the other room - _ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…_

Midnight. Nick tugs John down, one hand on his neck, and pulls John into a kiss.

Champagne glasses clink, and someone hoots. 

John looks through one open eye. He realizes that nobody’s hollering at _them_ , but they’re pointing and jeering at Ed and Mike, who are kissing in the hallway. Mike’s dipped Ed real low for the smooch, like that famous photograph of the sailor and the nurse in Times Square on V-J Day.

John shakes his head in disbelief. Nick lets go of John, licks his lips, and shrugs. “Do it again,” John requests in a hushed tone, and Nick pulls him back into another kiss while everyone’s still distracted. Their friends are all too busy laughing with Mike and Ed to see Nick and John looking into each other’s eyes. There’s nobody Nick would rather spend the new year with. “Happy New Year, Mulaney.” 

John smiles, looking rather pleased with Nick’s little trick. “You too, Nick. Any resolutions?”

“Actually…” Nick takes a gulp of his drink. “I’m going to start doing stand-up this year.” 

It was great that Nick was going to do anything instead of just watch TV, but this was better. John looks happy - proud, even. If Nick Kroll were to ask himself what he wants right now, the answer would be two things: John Mulaney and to make it as a comic. Somehow both feel within reach. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Nick asks John later that night when he starts to look tired of the evening’s proceedings. They raid the kitchen for booze, stuffing their coat pockets with cans of beer to get them through the trip home.

They drunkenly decide to walk back to Nick’s apartment over the Brooklyn Bridge. 

“How long is this thing?” John asks, once they’re halfway down the bridge. Nick shrugs.

“I don’t know. A mile, maybe?”

“A _mile_ ,” John repeats, incredulous. Maybe he should have asked that question before they started walking.

“Are you getting sick of me?” Nick jokes. 

John crowds him up against the edge of the bridge, a weird look in his eyes. “Nick,” is all he says in a low, serious voice, like - _you have to be kidding me_. He looks into Nick’s pale hazel eyes, searching, then lifts his hand to Nick’s mouth. He brushes his finger across Nick’s lower lip. Nick kisses the pad of John’s thumb.

Then John stands back like nothing happened. Nick swallows but John’s just fucking with him. 

They keep walking.

New Year’s in New York has a special flair to it, even far away from the festivities of Times Square. Everything is still decorated for Christmas. They step through streamers and puddles of glitter, the sparkling aftermath of dozens of parties. Surprisingly, it’s not too busy - most people cleared out and went home soon after midnight. 

Snow flurries start to fall when they reach Manhattan, glistening under the glow of the street lamps. 

In a good mood, Nick makes a swift decision when he sees that one of the streetlights is out, reaching out for John and pushing him into the shadows. He makes sure they’re out of the way, off the sidewalk, before kissing him deeply.

John sinks back against the bricks. A neon sign in the window casts a reddish glow on the side of John’s face. Nick wraps his hands in John’s scarf and falls in love with the neon in John’s eyes. He thinks, _this might be the happiest I’ve ever been_.

He kisses John’s chapped lips again.

They laugh all the way home, puffs of air visible as laughter tumbles from their mouths. They finally stumble into Nick’s apartment at three o’clock in the morning, spending the first moments of 2004 in each other’s arms.

*

St. Patrick’s Day was the worst day of the year.

John makes it his personal commitment to live up to his Irish heritage. They go to another party hosted by Mike. John drinks through Nick’s liquor collection like he’d been challenged to reduce it into a state of nothingness before the party even started, and goes hard on the keg at the party once they show up. 

A series of drinking games leads to a game of “Never Have I Ever”. The first few questions are innocent enough, covering less than salacious topics, but things escalate quickly. 

“Never have I ever had my heart broken,” says a girl with a short blonde haircut. Nick has never seen her before in his life. Nick will try to remember her face later in the weeks to come with no luck as the events that follow play out in his mind again and again like a car crash.

John, too pure to lie, takes a deep swig, finishing off his drink. He tries to hide his face behind his cup, knowing that Nick’s eyes are on him from across the room.

“Aw, poor Mulaney,” Mike says, and Nick gets a weird look on his face.

Nick corners John in the empty hallway after the game is over. 

“What did you mean? I didn’t know you had… who were you talking about?” Nick has a sinking feeling he knows what John is going to say. He doesn’t remember John being that broken up over any of his girlfriends. “John?”

John’s looking down at his toes. Then he looks at Nick, astonished. How could Nick not know what that meant? “You,” John spits, before he can take it back. “You, Nick. I meant you.”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, dude?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” John says angrily, clamming up. He shifts his gaze toward the floor again. He doesn’t know how to argue. “Not with you.” Nick tries to grab John’s wrist. He shakes himself free. “Stop it, Nick.”

Nick follows him into the kitchen, which is thankfully empty.

“Why do you keep letting me do this to you?” He’s no good for John. He knows John is the kind of guy who wants a Relationship with a capital R. “Over and over again?”

“I don’t let you do anything, Nick,” John mumbles. “I thought I had worked through it.”

“I didn’t think we were hurting anyone.” _I didn’t think I was hurting you._

“I told you I loved you. You’re the one who decided you didn’t want to be with me.”

“You saw my dad. You _saw_ what that was like. This isn’t an option for me,” Nick says, full of disbelief. “People get the shit kicked out of them all the time for being gay.”

“Lucky I’m interested in being with you and not with your dad, dumbass,” John says, getting rather nasty, his voice full of snark. Nick is starting to get under his skin. “You don’t have to be a homophobe just because he is.”

“Don’t be _mean_ , John, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know why you’re always acting like this, like whatever the fuck _this_ is was my idea. Like I have some kind of devious MO. You kissed me back, Nick, you kiss me back every single time. So stop it!”

Mike bursts into the kitchen at that moment, his arms full of empty beer cans. He sees John and Nick glaring, blinks like a deer in headlights, and backs out of the room as quickly as he entered.

Nick has to know that he’s responsible for starting something between the two of them at least half of the time. This thing is a joint effort. But John somehow always feels like he’s never good enough for Nick or the Krolls, even if that’s not really the problem here.

“I just think you come up with a lot of bullshit reasons not to be with me,” John says, almost unable to believe he’s actually said it out loud. How could someone be so free with everything except where it counts? It was in stark contrast to the way John seemed to be free about this one thing and nothing else whatsoever. “It’s not my fault that you won’t give yourself permission to be happy.” John’s spent too much time wishing Nick didn’t hate the part of himself that loved him.

Nick takes in John’s heavy statement, bites his lip, and then walks out of Mike’s apartment.

“Fuck,” John says to no one. He pours himself a double shot of tequila and follows Nick home.

*

The next day, they both wake up slow, lazing around in bed and dozing off again and again. John sprawls out and Nick blinks his eyes open to look at him. He’s got bruises up and down the underside of his forearm, a mottled mess of blue and purple spread across his skin. Nick runs his finger across the skin, presses his fingers into the bruises just enough to make John’s eyes fly open.

“Are you partying like this every weekend?”

“And so what if I am, dad?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nick frowns unhappily. “You think maybe you’re going at it a little hard sometimes?”

“You’re funny,” John says, which drives Nick nuts. John’s about to poke him when he spies the empty beer bottles beside the bed and proceeds to notice a bandage on his own hand. “What happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Should I?”

“That’s what I mean.” Nick shakes his head. He remembers last night clearly. On his way back from the kitchen, John had bumped into the doorframe and fell down in the doorway. He got up like nothing happened, beaming, and Nick didn’t even notice that he’d bumped a picture frame off the wall until John had leaned down and started picking at broken glass haphazardly. Nick remembers looking down and seeing the sight of blood, sticky red blood all over John’s long fingers. He went to him immediately, moving his hands away from the broken shards of glass so he could inspect them. 

Nick had made him sit on the bathroom counter so he could dab at John’s hands with gauze. He used a wet washcloth to clean the small cuts, covering the worst with a small bandage. After he finished, Nick managed to wrestle him into bed, tucking him in under the covers.

“Forget I said anything. It was St. Patrick’s Day. We all went a little crazy.”

*

Nick digs through his books, looking for a notepad. Shifting things out of the way, he comes across a stack of CDs - Radiohead, Cake, The Shins - and then he spots another album.

John had given this to him as a birthday present. “You have to listen to it straight through,” he had commanded. “It’s not the same if you put your Discman on shuffle. Trust me.”

He opens the jewel case and checks the sleeve. It’s thicker than most, and as he slides the insert out he pulls out three printed photos that had been hidden inside. His hands start shaking when he looks at them. It had taken him a long time to work up the nerve to get them developed.

There’s John’s unmistakable jawline and a bruise, bright as ever, like it was just made yesterday. Nick sweeps his thumb across the glossy photo. He knows what the next photo will be, a sinking feeling in his stomach making him unsure if he even wants to see it. It’s the photo of the two of them in bed together, Nick’s head pillowed on John’s shoulder. He’s smiling, such a happy look in his eyes, a pleased look on his face. John looks just as content, grinning so wide you can see his teeth. Nick tries to ignore the sentiment that bubbles up in his throat. It’s such a good picture. They look happy. Maybe like they could even be in love.

It feels like another time, a distant past, vestiges of a different life. Nick cradles the photograph in his palm, turns the photo over; can’t allow himself to consider what might have been. An urge to get rid of it crosses his mind; instead, he slips the photo back inside and looks for wrapping paper, putting it together as a graduation present for John.

*

John shows up unnannounced on Nick’s doorstep a week before the school year ends, yelling up to Nick’s apartment from the street. It’s not unlike him, even if Nick thought they were in the middle of a fight. Nick runs down to let him in anyway, giving him a big hug, throwing his arms around John’s neck.

It’s raining hard outside so they stay inside Nick’s bedroom instead of going out. John busts out the coke rather quickly, but Nick’s all too ready to let loose. He’s still got his old Georgetown ID card in his wallet, which they use to cut up the white powder.

The rush hits them quickly. John gets a little feisty and talkative, which is par for the course when they’re snorting lines. Nick listens to him, eyes big and focused. John starts going on about how much he’s looking forward to living in New York City as raindrops pelt the windows and rooftop.

“Let’s do it,” Nick says out nowhere, feeling brave. “I’ll tell my dad we’re living in sin.” Nick seems proud of his statement, but John is quiet for a moment. Nick is still grinning at him, high from saying out loud words he’d only dreamed of (well, that and the cocaine). “What do you think?”

“I just signed a lease with Kevin,” John, bearer of bombshells, drops on him. Nick’s heart sinks when he realizes that John didn’t even ask him about moving in to the apartment. As he thinks back, he notices John hadn’t brought it up once; he’d just gone ahead and found a place to live with his college roommate.

“I didn’t want to put pressure on you to live together. I thought that might be too real for you,” he says. Nick knows he doesn’t intend for it to sound mean but it does.

“That’s… that’s okay,” Nick says, swallowing around the words. “You’ll be here in the city. I can’t wait.” He does another line to distract himself. This was his own damn fault.

“Kevin and I have been living together for almost four years already. We kind of have it down, you know?” John continues. “I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” Nick says, snorting another line. His eyes are red. 

“… but I’ll see you at graduation right?”

“Shit, John, when is it?”

“It’s May 15.”

“Saturday, right? That’s the date of the UCB graduation show.”

“So you’re not coming?”

“I can’t, man. I’m sorry. I have to be there.”

“I understand.” John lays out another line on the table, making a point of not looking at Nick, even though he knows that’s not something he could ever ask him to miss.

Nick tries to change the subject when the conversation seems to keep going downhill. “Do you want me to put on some music?” John shrugs, acting moody. Nick grabs his wrist. “John.”

Then John gets up and pushes him against the wall, one hand on his throat, kissing him forcefully. Nick can’t lie - he is turned on immediately. He lets John think he has the upper hand for about thirty seconds before putting a hand on his waist and pulling him down firmly into his lap. 

John yelps and Nick slides his index finger into his mouth. Nick watches him suck on his finger, knowing he’s probably been grinding his teeth since they started doing blow. Nick grinds his hips up into John’s ass so that he can feel Nick’s hard-on.

Nick kisses him again but John stops him so that he can lay out a few more lines on the table. Nick makes him stay in his lap, keeping him there with hands around his waist. He slides his hands under John’s shirt, grinning wildly as he tries to distract John.

“Nick,” John warns, hands shaking as he pours coke out of the little baggie. “Are you still mad at me?” 

Nick runs his hands all over John’s back underneath his shirt. Of course John would think it was his fault. Figures he’d try to apologize for Nick getting mad over the way John felt. “I was never mad at you,” Nick says. “Mad at myself, maybe. You’re not mad at me?”

John twists his upper body so he can do a couple of lines, then turns back around to shake his head no. He kisses Nick’s neck, desperate for something to do with his mouth. “Does this mean we can fuck?”

Nick nods, kissing the shell of John’s ear. He pulls his hands out from under John’s t-shirt and pats his thigh. “Go on. You know what to do.” So John scrambles off his lap and moves for the bedroom.

Nick does one more line then joins him. John’s on the bed already preparing himself when Nick walks in. 

Nick’s breath stops when he sees John like that. “Guess I know what you want, huh?” Nick asks. He strips off his t-shirt and joins him on the bed.

“Get on with it,” John says impatiently. With his free hand he turns Nick’s face toward him, one hand on his stubbled jaw, planting a kiss on him. 

Nick runs a hand up John’s leg and across the inside of his thigh before wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping a few times. John moans at his feather-light touches. He finishes opening him up, sliding in the same finger he’d stuck in John’s mouth at first, then working in two and three fingers. John makes impatient little noises.

Coke makes him feel powerful, and the sensation is enhanced with John underneath him. Everything is heightened from the drugs. John peers up at him with pin-pricked pupils. “Get on your knees,” Nick instructs. Blood rushes to his face. John obeys.

Nick drapes himself over John and shoves inside, slamming his hips into John’s relentlessly. It’s easy to be rough this way, senses heightened, blood pounding, heartbeats racing. Nick’s thrusts get brutal and merciless, and he tunes out John’s little cries as he fucks him into the mattress. 

“Quiet, Johnnie,” Nick mutters against him. He keens at the nickname and Nick fists a hand in John’s brown hair. He rocks his hips up, searching for whatever Nick will give him. Nick lurches forward, hands wrapped firmly around John’s narrow hips as he brings the younger man’s body against his own. He presses in again and again, thrusting deeper every time. 

His fingers tighten as he comes, holding John close against him after he finishes.

Nick pulls out, panting for breath.

“I need a bump,” John says afterward as they’re resting on the bed. His face is flushed. “And a shower.”

“Stay for another minute,” Nick asks, needy, and John curls into him so he can shower him with affection. John sucks a dark hickey onto his neck, leaning back to observe the work he’s created.

Then John fetches the baggie and Steely Dan’s _Pretzel Logic_ album, sitting cross-legged on the bed. They do a few more lines off the CD case and talk, and then talk some more.

“Look, I have something for you,” Nick says. “For graduation.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I didn’t. Not really.”

Nick hands him the package and watches him tear neatly at the edges of the paper. 

Nick can’t help but observe the firm set of John’s mouth as he realizes what he’s holding. “This was a gift,” John says, running his thumb across the cover.

“Look inside,” Nick manages to say, surprised the words come out of his mouth audible, and not a choked whisper. So John does, and then Nick’s not sure if he made the right decision or not. He slides the photos out carefully and holds them gingerly in his hands like they’re something precious. John lingers the longest on the photo of himself and Nick.

After studying the photographs, John looks up. “I love you and there’s nothing you can do about it.” John holds on to the photographs, but hands the CD back to Nick. “You should keep this.”

They both feel like shit in the morning, although John tries to steal some sleep. First John dreams of a city on fire. Then he dreams that all of his friends hate him and are telling him so. John wakes with a start and reaches for Nick, who is flipped the wrong way around on the bed, his feet up on the pillow. Grabbing Nick’s hand seems to help, but his heart is racing and his head is pounding. John pulls on a pair of sunglasses and lies back down with a grunt.

Nick’s mouth is dry and his throat sore, and he has no more words left. He tightens his hand around John’s and stays there until he can hear uneven snores.

Once he’s sure John is asleep, Nick gets up, trying to ignore the splitting feeling in his temple and the heart-rending, shaky feeling in his chest as he paces around the living room, afraid he might die if he lies down. 

Nick grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and vigilantly sits back down at John’s feet.

*

Commencement at Georgetown University wraps up around lunchtime. John finds his parents after the ceremony so they can take photographs while he’s still in his black cap and gown. After they get a photo of every combination of family member imaginable, John’s father Charles recommends a restaurant downtown for lunch. 

“Are you feeling okay, John?” his mother Ellen asks during the middle of their meal. He had been up smoking cocaine last night until almost two in the morning, but that was beside the point. “You were hoping your friend Nick would be here, weren’t you?” John reluctantly nods, because it’s the truth. “What kept him?” she asks, knowing it must be something important.

“He has a graduation show tonight at Upright Citizen’s Brigade. The improv theater,” he explains.

“Well, what time is his show?”

“Eight, I guess,” John responds. He pushes his food around on his plate with his fork, still without an appetite.

“You could make it,” she says casually, sipping her tea. John’s jaw drops.

“To New York?” he asks, confused. “What do you mean?” 

“The train ride… it’s what, four hours?”

“Just about, yes.”

“Well, it’s two o’clock now,” Charles chimes in after checking his watch, catching on to Ellen’s meaning and following her lead. “There should be at least one more train to New York this afternoon, shouldn’t there?” It’s the last thing John expected to hear out of his father’s mouth.

John gapes at his parents. Surely they couldn’t be serious. His family had a whole weekend planned together and John wasn’t due to move to New York for at least a week more. Could his mother really be suggesting this?

The crazy plan still hasn’t sunk in when Ellen flags down their waitress with a smile. “We’ll be needing the check as soon as you can, please.”

*

“Thank you, mom,” John says to Ellen on the drive to Union Station. They’re racing the clock but she follows all the rules of the road and obeys every streetlight and stop sign, much to John’s frustration. John’s fists grip his backpack as he tries not to look at his wristwatch. 

After his family drops him off and wishes him luck, John buys a ticket for the next train, the only train that will get him to New York City in time, and makes it to the platform with five minutes to spare.

When John sinks into his seat, he lets out a breath that he’s been holding for quite some time. He looks at his one-way ticket to Penn Station from Washington D.C., realizing that it’s the last one he’ll ever purchase. 

*

The train pulls into Penn Station at ten after the hour. There’s still fifty minutes to get from Midtown to the theater in the East Village before the UCB show. The station is packed, and John makes his way through the crowd as quickly as possible.

John spends five minutes waiting in the subway station before he hears an announcement noting a delay. He checks his watch and decides to book it back upstairs to get a cab. He jogs to the street.

What should be a fifteen-minute drive takes almost twenty-five minutes in the thick traffic. John pauses to check his wristwatch constantly. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

When the taxi pulls up to the curb outside the UCB theater, John flings a twenty at the driver. He exits the cab only to be faced with a line that runs out the door and down the block. He looks at the box office, unsure what to do. There’s no way he can cut in line in front of these people, so he heads to the end of the block, to the very end of the line, jams his hands in his pockets and waits. 

It’s almost eight o’clock by the time he reaches the box office window. The girl in the box office finishes the transaction for the guy standing in front of him, and then John steps up to the counter.

“Sorry,” the woman apologizes. “That was the last one.”

John’s face falls. “Please. I have to get in there.”

“There are no more seats, I’m sorry. There’ll be another show tomorrow at 7:30pm if you’d like to come back.”

“It has to be this one,” John says. “You don’t understand.”

She shakes her head.

John spies a man who already has a ticket step out of the theater to make a phone call. John waits until he hangs up the phone and makes his move.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m sorry to bother you - is there any chance I could please buy your ticket?” John pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and flips through it. “I can give you fifty bucks.”

“Excuse me,” the box office clerk speaks up. “This is illegal.” John and the man both turn back to the box office window. “Maximum re-sale value is face value plus 20%. So you really can’t give him more than $12.”

John and the patron both look at her, bewildered. “What, are you a lawyer?” John had managed to find the one ticket agent in all of New York City actually familiar with scalping laws. “You’re not helping.”

The girl shrugs. “Pre-law. Columbia.”

John groans. 

The man studies him and hands over his ticket. He pushes the money back to John when he tries to pay him. “Just take it. You seem like you need it more than I do right now,” he says, still taken aback at John’s offer to pay him so much for the ticket, trying to figure out why someone would need to see an improv show so badly.

“Thank you. _Thank you _,” John repeats graciously, trying to hold himself back from hugging the man. He darts into the red theater.__

__The house is packed when John finds his way inside, and almost all of the seats are already taken. He starts hunting for a vacant seat and finally finds one in the center of the third row._ _

__The house lights dim and the six improvisers play a series of short form games, but definitely nothing worth fifty bucks. Nick is good at finding the game of each scene, and John can see how he’s grown since their days at Georgetown. He’s got unique angles, solid characters, and has learned how to heighten the stakes._ _

__When the show ends, John scrambles to his feet to clap, even though nobody else around him is standing as they applaud. He looks straight at Nick and when Nick turns to the audience, he sees John standing there right in the middle of the theater. He looks stunned._ _

__John and Nick lock eyes across the small room._ _

__The other performers exit stage right as the crowd starts to thin out, clearing the house for the next show. John and Nick stand there, continuing to look at one another._ _

__A voice from the back of the theater breaks the spell. “Nick, grab the house lights when you’re done, will ya?”_ _

__And then they’re alone._ _

__“What are you doing here?” Nick says. A look of amazement crosses Nick’s features._ _

__“I don’t really know,” John admits honestly. Those characters in movies that make mad dashes to the airport all seemed to have better game plans than he did, but it _didn’t matter_. Georgetown University was a thing of the past. New York - Nick - was his future._ _

__“Are you going to get up here?”_ _

__“Yes, and -” There he goes again. Old habits._ _

__Nick reaches a hand out for John and helps him onto the stage, pulling him close before dropping his hand. “Hey.”_ _

__“Hello.”_ _

__John places his hand on Nick’s neck, strokes his thumb against Nick’s jaw and pulls him into a deep, searing kiss. John’s mouth is warm, and his kisses are filled with an unlikely gentleness. Nick’s hands come up to rest on his slim hips, savoring every last second._ _

__There’s a big grin all over John’s face when they part._ _

__“Congratulations,” Nick says, still unable to believe John is standing in front of him. “On graduation.”_ _

__“Well, same to you.”_ _

__“What did you think?” he asks nervously._ _

__John kisses him again to show him his heartfelt reaction. “I’m so proud of you.”_ _

__Nick pulls back with a nervous laugh. “Is this it? Does this mean you’re a real New Yorker now?”_ _

__“Took me long enough.” It feels like John’s been waiting for this every day for three whole years._ _

__“Yeah, it did,” Nick agrees, biting his lip. “I wish I could have made it, John.”_ _

__“Don’t worry about it, Nick. It’s in the past, okay? This is our future. And I’m here now.”_ _


End file.
